


Some Like It Hoth

by fennecfawkes



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Blizzards & Snowstorms, Get Together, Hoth, M/M, Road Trips, Snowball Fight, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-23
Updated: 2016-01-23
Packaged: 2018-05-15 20:11:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5798359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fennecfawkes/pseuds/fennecfawkes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Greetings from Hoth, where the climate isn't the kindest, but the company can't be beat.</p><p>Title lovingly borrowed from <i>Lost</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Some Like It Hoth

**Author's Note:**

> Winter Storm Jonas has me stuck inside my Manhattan apartment, and thus a fic is born.

Snow doesn’t do much for Poe. Never has, really. It was never a part of his life on Yavin 4, not with that climate, and being a pilot, it doesn’t do him any favors in terms of flight conditions. Still, Poe’s nothing if not devoted to his work, so when he’s given instructions to fly to Hoth, drop off supplies to the recently resurrected Echo Base, and loop back to D’Qar, he accepts—with one caveat.

“I don’t believe Finn’s ever been to Hoth,” he says to the General, trying to sound casual. “And he’s been on security rotation for a full two weeks.”

General Organa does that thing she does with her eyebrows. “He’s been a great help,” she says. “His knowledge of the most secure portions of First Order complexes has been invaluable. We may be implementing some of his suggestions in the near future.”

“He may deserve a reward for those efforts.”

Again with the eyebrows. “I suppose he may.” She pauses. “You know that fraternization within the ranks is acceptable. And I’m not referring to ... short-term engagements.”

“Yes, ma’am,” says Poe. “It’s how my parents became close.”

“And there are those here who would appreciate it if you—how can I put this? If you got on with it.”

Poe doesn’t blush, hasn’t blushed since he was a kid. But fighting off any kind of embarrassed facial expression is rather difficult all of a sudden. “Just waiting for the right opportunity, General.”

She nods. “You may inform Finn that he will be accompanying you on your supply drop. And bring extra clothing. Hoth is cold this time of year.”

“Hoth is cold every time of year.”

General Organa half smiles. “At least you’ll have company.”

.:.

“That,” Finn says, sounding breathless as they exit the cockpit, “was a damn good landing.”

“I aim to please,” says Poe, jumping down before Finn can (and if it’s for the sole purpose of guiding Finn to the ground while holding his hand, well, that’s for Poe to know and no one else to find out). The snow makes a soft crunching sound under his boots, and as soon as he drops Finn’s hand, he shoves both his own in the pockets of his coat (which is layered on top of a vest and a shirt and another shirt; his bottom half is similarly layered, as is all of Finn).

“So, welcome to Hoth,” Poe says. “We should be able to get to Echo Base in a few minutes—it’s right up there.” He points ahead of them, where there are several considerably sized buildings. “There are a few tauntauns on the grounds. Have you ever ridden a tauntaun?”

Finn snorts. “Take a wild guess.”

“Fair enough. Well, we’ll bring two back here, and we can ride our own one way, then together on the way back so we have enough room for the supplies.”

“These things big?”

Poe smiles. “You’ll see. This particular operation’s headed up by a Bothan. Don’t know his surname, but he’s usually called Sen.”

“Surnames are overrated.”

“Fair.” Poe glances over at Finn, or where he assumes Finn to be, and has to crane his neck to see Finn a few steps behind him, hands cupped, collecting snow. “I know you’ve seen snow before.”

“Yeah, but I’ve never—“ Finn packs the snow accumulated on his palms into a ball. “I was usually occupied with something else. Training. Lightsaber fight. Whatever.” He tosses the snowball at Poe, who yelps in mock offense when it smacks him in the shoulder. “Never got to have any fun with it.”

“Oh, that’s how it is?”

Finn just smirks and crouches down to make another snowball. Poe retaliates, relying on his quick reflexes to get his first shot in before Finn takes his second. For a few minutes, Poe pushes the mission aside and focuses on a new objective: take Finn down (and possible go there with him). Finn’s fast, but Poe’s better at building snowballs, not from practice so much as innate skill, which he’ll be sure to brag about later to Jess and Snap, who’ve both seen more snow in their lives. Finn does get him in the face once, and that’s a bit brutal. But while Finn’s still laughing at that, he loses his footing, and he’s just about to fall—which, no matter how soft this snow cover is, ouch—when Poe rushes over and grabs him by the arms.

“You OK?” he asks.

“Never better,” says Finn, smiling. “Although I did just remember that we’re supposed to be working.”

“You work too hard, buddy.” Poe lets go of Finn’s arms with no small amount of regret and leads him toward the base.

.:.

Riding a tauntaun with Finn’s chest at his back is just as torturous as Poe anticipated, and by the time the supplies are secure, Poe’s more than ready to pack it in for the night. Sen, who’s exceptionally gracious, sets the two of them up in a kind of visitor’s suite that feels almost like an apology for the harsh conditions of Hoth. The bed is massive, laden with extra pillows and layers of blankets, and portions of two walls are hollowed out to house fires behind glass screens. There’s a spread of bread and cheese and wine laid out on the counter of the dining area, and the tub is big enough for two, though Poe’s not sure even he’s smooth enough to manage that.

Finn’s stripping off layers before he’s even closed the door behind them, which Poe does now, trying not to gulp audibly when Finn is down to the tight thermal pants he’d worn as a base layer. At the edge of the bed, there are two folded sets of pajamas; Finn reaches for the maroon, hesitates, and takes the dark green instead.

“Didn’t really have a favorite color before,” Finn says, pulling the green shirt—also thermal, also almost unfairly tight—over his head. He slips off his pants (and they’ve changed in the same room before so Poe knows the lack of shame Finn displays over having his everything out around Poe is totally normal) and tugs on the comfy-looking bottoms. “Plus, you look good in red.”

“Don’t you only see me in white and orange?” asks Poe as he changes his clothes. Finn’s eyes linger on him when he’s shirtless, and Poe tries not to take it as anything more than acknowledgement that he’s maybe an OK guy to look at. Though that’s getting harder to do lately, especially post-snowball fight, especially post-Sen taking Poe aside and saying, “This one, he makes you happy. You make him happy, too. You should cherish that.”

“You have that one red shirt,” Finn says. “It’s old. Tattered. Like maybe it wasn’t always yours.”

“Oh, the one with—yeah. Yeah. That was my dad’s. I try not to wear it a lot. Like you said, tattered.”

Finn nods and doesn’t say anything further on the subject. “Don’t know about you, but I’m not letting that wine go to waste.”

Poe grins, ties the drawstring on the pajama pants, and goes to uncork the bottle. More than a few glasses later, the wine’s gone, the cheese and bread are down to a few crumbs here and there, and both he and Finn are lying on their backs on the bed, Finn laughing that infectious, beautiful laugh while Poe tells him about the time Snap got spectacularly drunk at Maz Kanata’s and threw up on his future wife’s shoes.

“Not the most dignified way someone’s met the love of their life,” says Poe. “But it does make for a decent story.”

“Do you think first meetings really mean anything?” Finn asks.

“They can. But all the best ones I’ve heard about have been more embarrassing than anything else. Or just uncomfortable.” Poe leans up on one elbow and looks at Finn. “The General and Han weren’t on the best of terms when they first met.”

“Yeah, that whole situation seems a little off to me,” says Finn. “What with the whole ‘We’re siblings but we don’t know we’re siblings so let’s get weird but not know it’s weird’ thing.”

“Can you imagine how Skywalker must’ve felt?” Poe groans in belated sympathy for Luke’s plight. “I don’t know what I would’ve done with myself.” Finn shifts positions, looking almost shaky. “Hey, are you shivering?”

Finn laughs, sounding almost nervous. “Yeah, I—just not used to it, I guess. Even with the fires, I can still sense that it’s freezing.”

“On your side.”

Finn raises an eyebrow, and Poe rolls his eyes.

“Roll up on your side and I’ll curl up behind you and we’ll put some of these blankets to use, and you won’t be cold anymore.”

Finn complies, and Poe does what he said he’d do, and it’s not quite the tub but it might actually be better, because Finn’s nestled against him, hands on his where they’re joined at the front of his waist, just above the loose bow of the pajama pants, and Poe can smell the shampoo Pava lent Finn when he said he’d never picked out his own before, and he can feel the utter softness of Finn’s skin and hair, and he can hear Finn’s soft, quiet breaths, inhaling, exhaling, ending on a yawn.

“Wine make you sleepy?” Poe asks, and he’s trying not to sound flirtatious, really, he is, but his tone keeps going that way without his permission.

“Little bit,” says Finn. “Still not really used to alcohol. Hey, Poe?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re—we’re friends, right?”

“Yeah,” Poe says, heart stuttering slightly, stomach dropping a bit, because that’s not really what he wants to hear.

“And this is just kind of—standard procedure for you and your friends? Snow fights and cuddling?”

“They’re called snowball fights.”

“That wasn’t really an answer,” says Finn. Poe can hear that he’s smiling.

“It ... no,” Poe says. “No. Because—damn, the General made this sound easier than it is. Actually, she didn’t really assign a difficulty level to do it, but when she tells you to do something, you kind of have to do it, right?”

“No idea what you’re talking about right now.”

Poe sighs. “I ... like you.”

“I like you, too.”

“No, I mean, like, want us to be together, want to take trips like this and have it make total sense, want to go on shore leave, want to show you where I’m from, want you to feel like you don’t have to tell me anything but you could tell me everything, should I keep going, or am I just horribly off the mark here?”

Finn hesitates before saying, “So apparently I haven’t been that obvious.”

Poe laughs, more out of relief than amusement. “No, buddy. You really haven’t.”

Finn turns in Poe’s arms, and Poe lets himself look, lets himself get just a little bit lost in Finn’s eyes, can’t help taking his hand off Finn’s waist to run his thumb along Finn’s lower lip, which begins to quiver. It’s only seconds before Poe moves his hand back where it was and brushes his lips against Finn’s, who pushes back, a little clumsy but very determined and searing hot. Poe’s always assumed Finn’s never kissed anyone, but despite the initial clumsiness, now he’s sure that’s not true; Finn’s tongue is quick and dexterous, and he knows just how hard he needs to bite Poe’s upper lip to make him squirm. It’s really, _really_ difficult for Poe not to thrust his hips forward, so he’s glad when Finn does it first, and he’s _ecstatic_ when Finn reaches down between them. It’s a bit of a blur from there, and when they’re both spent and sated, Finn flops on his back and Poe lays his head on Finn’s chest, tracing patterns with the tip of his finger.

“I just want you to know that if we end up in the tub, I’m going to think you’re in the habit of making all my dreams come true,” says Poe.

“Give me a few minutes and I will,” Finn says. “I can’t believe you didn’t know. I mean, just how good your hair looks after you’ve been tortured had me sold on that part of you. Then you named me. And you wanted to protect me.”

“Well, you wanted to do the same for me,” says Poe. “And for what it’s worth, I hate what it means, but I loved how you looked in that uniform.”

“You can’t see literally any of my body in that uniform.”

“No, but I saw your face. That was enough for me.”

“You,” Finn says, “are so gone on me that it’s not even funny.”

“I could say the same for you.”

“Fair.” Finn stretches and hops off the bed. “Tub?”

“Finally.”

.:.

The weather gets worse, and Poe and Finn are grounded for three days. Neither one complains.


End file.
